


Windmills

by RedFlagsAndDiamonds



Category: The Perfect Specimen (1937)
Genre: 1930s, Alternate Reality, Canon Rewrite, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Errolivia, F/M, First Kiss, First Love, Fluff and Humor, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Road Trips, Romance, so sweet you could float a pancake in it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-09
Updated: 2018-07-09
Packaged: 2019-06-07 13:43:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15220403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedFlagsAndDiamonds/pseuds/RedFlagsAndDiamonds
Summary: Gerald Wicks, the heir to an immense fortune, has never been outside the gates of his childhood estate - the perfect prey for gossip columnist, Mona Carter. What could possibly go wrong?An Errolivia re-imagining of 1937's "The Perfect Specimen"





	Windmills

**Author's Note:**

> A rewrite of the film in which extraneous characters are removed, the allusions made about Gerald's home life are carried through to their logical conclusion, and Mona is played by Olivia de Havilland.

_ “Is it too much to ask, _

_ I want a comfortable bed that won’t hurt my back… _

_ Food to fill me up, _

_ And warm clothes, _

_ And all that stuff… _

_ Shouldn’t I have all of this, _

_ And passionate kisses from you?” _

 

\- Mary Chapin Carpenter, _Passionate Kisses_

  
  


 

* * *

  
  


 

Miss Chatsworth peered over the rims of her bifocals, lips tightened with skepticism.

“I’m sure you realize, Miss Carter, that this is hardly the first suggestion of this nature I’ve heard from you girls?”

Mona was well aware of that fact, but kept her little red pumps planted firmly in front of Miss Chatsworth’s desk. 

“All I’m asking is how much the magazine would pay for it, Miss. You just leave the details to me.”

The editor sighed with a put upon air, and glanced over the notation laid before her - hastily scribbled on what appeared to be a paper diner napkin. A bit of rose-red lipstick was smeared on the corner.

“If- and I say  _ if,  _ Miss Carter - you were to successfully acquire this story, it would easily be worth over three thousand to any paper of prestige, never mind a ladies’ journal-“

“Sold.” Mona chirped sweetly, a crafty gleam in her sweet brown eyes.

“- But don’t think this will excuse two missed deadlines in the past month! I expect all my girls to -“

“No need for the lecture, you miserable trout.” she called cheerfully over her shoulder. “Once I have those three thousand dollars in the bank, I promise you won’t have to put up with me a moment longer.”

 

*

 

The iron fences of the Wicks estate loomed eighteen feet high, capped by wicked looking spikes evidently intended to disembowel anyone impertinent enough to intrude. Gazing up from the open seat of her convertible, Mona wouldn’t have been shocked if hot oil began pouring down in defense of the castle and it’s most precious inhabitant.

 

She’d heard the stories about him all her life - who hadn’t? - and as the transition was made from pigtails to coiffures before she assumed her place behind a typewriter at the well-regarded  _ Ladies Fair _ , girlhood curiosity quickly took a distinct businesslike turn. 

 

Dozens - no, hundreds - of journalists, muckrakers, and conspiracy theorists had attempted to gain access to Gerald Beresford Wicks ever since his grandmother, her nose held high, had carried him through the doorway of her Long Island mansion, his ruddy newborn face peering out from the folds of a mink shawl. He’d never been seen outside the gates since. And Granny Wicks, the ice queen herself, had ordered every single one of the hordes of hopefuls flung out like roaches scraped off her shoe. Some of the boldest had even tried scaling the fence in the dead of night, only to wind up hospitalized the next morning with impressive dog bites in one or both legs. 

 

As far as the general public was concerned, the youngest Wicks was entirely unreachable, and possibly mythological. 

 

But perhaps, Mona considered with a private chuckle, as she geared the car into forward and slammed a dainty foot onto the accelerator, her colleagues might have been more successful if they’d just been a little more shameless.

  
  


*

  
  


It was at the precise second when the front of the car made spectacular contact with the bars of the fence, that Mona realized a Ford Model 48 might not react well to being battered against solid iron.

Once the carnage had ended, she hesitantly cracked one eye open to inspect the damage, only to find herself under gaping scrutiny by a most peculiar creature.

Old Lady Wicks’ intention for her grandson was widely if not openly known; perfection. Simple, utter perfection, nothing less would do. With that information, Mona could only assume that the young man staring rudely at her was the infamous G.B., or that the estate put great care into the appearance of it’s lawn staff.

If perfection had been the goal, it had unquestionably been achieved; his face was perfectly formed, hair perfectly combed, teeth perfectly straight. Not to mention perfectly dressed, although every button and knot of his linen morning suit seemed artificial in some bizarre way. Mona was reminded of an ad model in a Sears catalogue.

“...Who are you?” he blurted out suddenly.

She furrowed her brow.

“Most men would ask a girl if she’d been hurt after a bust-up like that.”

His face crumpled, before he began hurrying to repair the apparent mistake.

“Oh, I’m sorry - are-are you hurt?”

“Don’t think so - you?”

“Oh - no.”

With some finagaling, Mona eventually grabbed her handbag from the backseat and threw her legs over the side of the car, offering her companion a first rate view of her stocking seams. He swallowed audibly.

A cursory inspection proved that, by some miracle, the engine had survived it’s traumatic entry into the property, and the only real scar was a shattered headlamp. Evidently, Ford Motors needed to change it’s advertising angle. Reassured that she wouldn’t be forced to pay premiums she had never been able to afford, Mona snapped open a compact and turned her focus to the more important repairs.

“Uh - my name’s Wicks.” the poor kid mentioned hesitantly, sidling up next to her. “Gerald Beresford Wicks.”

“You don’t say.”

Better to play dumb at first, and lure the prey in. That, after all, was how she’d brought in tell-alls on two senators and a Wall Street banker. (Let other publications say what they liked, housewives ate up the juicy stuff like buzzards.) America’s breathing paper doll couldn’t be much different.

“Yes, I- I live here.” he stammered, pointing a little aimlessly over his shoulder, though he didn’t seem able to take his eyes off her. “In - in the house, not in the tree.”

Sure enough, a stack of thick textbooks was piled next to a handsome oak nearby. She raised a brow.

“You spend a lot of time in trees, Mr. Wicks?”

“Oh no, I - I’ve just been conducting an experiment on the effects of gravity. You see, it’s my hour of scientific relaxation.”

“Scienti -”

“Grandma says relaxing is just an excuse for laziness so I have to better myself while resting and not be a layabout.” he rattled off, exactly as if he’d recited it by rote three times a day.

Mona blinked.

“Grandma sounds like a real picnic.”

“No, that can’t be right, people aren’t -”

She snapped her compact shut, quickly putting the brakes on a looming argument she couldn’t possibly win.

“Tell me - are all your days spent, ah, ‘bettering yourself?’”

“Well, I have to - Grandma says that a man who will one day command ten thousand employees must be their superior in every way or he can’t call himself a man.”

“And how exactly do you manage that? Today, for instance, what’re your plans?”

It was like talking to a child, Mona realized suddenly. Too open, too trusting. This would be like the proverbial baby and the candy.

“Let’s see - after lunch I’m studying business administration until one, then Mr. Gratten will come fetch me for french, and at two-thirty I have interval aerobics in the gymnasium, and then-”

“I get the picture. Look honey, I don’t know who you are -”

Her weak, starving conscience began screaming behind it’s gag and trying to escape the chair she’d tied it to.

“- but it sounds as if you need a breath of fresh air. Ever been drunk?”

He gasped.

“Of course not! Grandma says -”

“Ever been to a burlesque show?”

Now he just looked confused.

“Ever kissed a girl?”

Confusion instantly gave way to wide-eyed alarm, as he turned three distinct shades of pale and backed away from her slowly.

“...You’re one of those women Grandma told me about, aren’t you?”

Before Mona could confirm or deny that particular accusation, a dog barked somewhere nearby, setting off a veritable chorus of yips and howls.

“Uh oh - security must have heard the noise, they’ll be here in a few minutes!”

All his alarm over her intentions seemed to have instantly evaporated at the thought of her being accosted, she noticed with some amusement. Cute little thing, wasn’t he?

“Well I’d better get moving then.” Mona replied anxiously- or at least, a decently convincing imitation. Her bottom hit the leather-upholstered seat with a thump as she tumbled backward over the side of the car, situated her feet on the pedals, counted to three, and turned back toward him.

“Hey - why don’t you come too?”

If his eyes had grown any wider, Mona was fairly certain she could have touched up her lipstick in the reflection.

“ - Out there?” he finally stammered.

Mona shrugged.

“Unless you think Grandma would mind, of course.”

For a long moment he continued to stare, like he expected the convertible to grow fangs and bite him.

“-In the car?”

“If you know a better way, I’d like to hear about it.”

Just then, the possibility of biting became much more real, as a trio of enormous drooling mastiffs came galloping from behind the oak grove.

“Oops - better make up your mind quick!”

In a split second, Gerald seemed to decide that the opportunity for escape outweighed the possibility of being mauled by a pack of hounds, and leaped into the seat beside her as though he were being timed. 

Grinning, she floored the gas tank, and whizzed through the convertible-sized hole in the fence with her lifetime meal-ticket clutching the car door in desperation.

“It’s Mona, by the way.” she hollered over the screech of all four burning tires.

“What?” he yelled back.

“You asked who I was - Mona Carter!”

 

*

  
  


Just five miles down the road, the enterprising Miss Carter realized she might well have grabbed the wrong end of the so-called stick. Despite twenty-five years in a satin-lined cage, Gerald B. Wicks hardly seemed ready to carve a path straight to fire and brimstone.

“D-do you suppose you could have me back in an hour?” 

Mona huffed.

“Well, that’s a fine attitude!”

“No, really - I’m already in so much trouble -”

“Listen -“ she interrupted. “I’m starved, and I bet you are too.”

He glanced bashfully towards his wing-tipped feet, biting at his adorable lip.

“What was luncheon supposed to be today?”

“Steamed salmon and a boiled egg dressed with collard greens and a slice of grapefruit, Mr. Gratten told me.” Gerald recited brightly, just like a waiter, not noticing the look of revolted alarm on Mona’s face.

“That’s a lot of excitement for a pile of stuff dredged up from the bottom of a lake.”

“Well you see, grapefruit has been out of season and supplies were short due to a climate irregularity, so-”

“Oh, I think I get this - ‘gather ye rosebuds,’ huh?” she chuckled, a throaty, bell-like sound that without her awareness, brightened his eyes.

“You know what you need to do? Tilt a couple windmills.”

“Windmills?”

“Don’t tell me they never made you read  _ Don Quixote  _ in that penitentiary?” 

“Oh - oh yes, the man who fought the - but Miss Carter-”

“Mona.”

“Mona, yes - I don’t quite see the-”

“I’m saying don’t wait around for grapefruit, just because that’s all you can look forward to - make noise for once, tilt a windmill.”

He still looked confused.

“Tell you what,” she offered, exasperated. “I’ll find the windmills and we’ll tilt them together - tilt them, we’ll knock them over.”

“Well… alright…”

“First things first, you’re going to eat something that wasn’t cooked for a rabbit.”

The car fishtailed wildly as she swerved onto the main road, several passing cars honking angrily, though Mona held control of the vehicle like a bullrider. Gerald, on the other hand, was starting to resemble the collard greens he’d so narrowly escaped.

They finally came to a jolting halt in one of the free slots of an octagonal shaped building covered with neon lights and signage - probably a loud, obnoxious display to most commuters, but Gerald stared dumbstruck as if it were the Taj Mahal.

“Two sirloin steaks on white, with as much cheese as you’ve got -” Mona hollered to the beleaguered-looking carhop, before Gerald gasped in protest.

“You can’t mean - I can’t eat red meat, it shortens the life-span!”

For a second he actually looked so indignant that she giggled.

“At the rate you’re going, I think you’ll die of boredom before one sandwich can get you. Two steaks on white,” she called again. “And two beers!”

It was a close thing, but after a few moments she decided that no, he wasn’t actually going to faint.

 

*

 

“My head’s buzzing - is that normal?”

“Oh, you’ll get used to it! - Don’t worry about that now, just sit back and enjoy a taste of freedom!”

“If it’s anything like that steak, I think it’ll come straight back up again.” he grumbled, but Mona knew better than to believe a word; after one bite of his first real meal, Gerald had been trying to stifle moans of ecstasy.

Birds twittered somewhere nearby as the car trundled down the backroad, a direct counterpoint to Mona’s racing thoughts.  _ Nation’s Ideal Can’t Hold a Beer _ … it needed some work, but with a little tweaking she might have an opening sub-line.

“What is this, exactly?” Gerald asked suddenly, waving towards the Motorola currently pumping out Bing Crosby’s latest warble. 

“Last I heard, it was called music.” she giggled.

“But it’s absolutely lovely! -”

“I suppose Grandma doesn’t approve?”

“Not of modern pieces - I’m only allowed to play List or Mozart on the Broadwood Grand, and sometimes Verdi on the gramophone… though once Alicia brought a swing record, so we could dance, but - well, Grandma made her snap it in half and throw it out the window.”

“Who’s Alicia?” Mona quickly inquired, her long-honed nose for tittle-tattle sniffing at the air with interest.

Gerald blushed and focused his attention on the passing scenery.

“I - well, I’m not supposed to discuss that with anyone, you see.”

“Suit yourself.” 

Internally, she suppressed a howl of frustration amidst rapidly growing curiosity. Three thousand drats and a good old-fashioned damn (the finishing school graduate within her winced.)

With near perfect timing, the radio tunes cut off abruptly and were replaced with a man’s well-practiced voice.

_ “Flash! From Radio News Service - we interrupt all programs to bring you a special bulletin. An unverified report states that Gerald Beresford Wicks, heir to Wicks Utilities and the thirty-million dollar estate of Mrs. Leonora Wicks is missing, feared kidnapped. Any information as to his whereabouts should be communicated to your local police headquarters.” _

The music switched back in, while Mona tapped her red-lacquered fingernails against the steering wheel. 

“Well… sounds like Grandma’s unleashed the bloodhounds already.”

She grudgingly had to hand it to the old lady - it hadn’t even been a full hour.

The flush of color had drained from Gerald’s face as quickly as it had come, and sweat glistened on his neck and forehead while he licked his lips nervously.

“Now don’t tell me you want to be locked back in that sanitorium already.” Mona exclaimed, straining to hold down her rising panic as three thousand dollars grew wings and prepared to fly away.

His entire six foot-plus frame seemed to shrink before her eyes.

“...I wouldn’t like to worry them at home - maybe I -”

“Now just a minute - are you a man striking out on his own, or a bad little schoolboy who’s going to be dragged back and sent to bed without supper?”

Gerald seemed to think it over.

“Well… I suppose if I’ve been gone this long, a few more hours can’t make things any worse…”

“That’s the spirit!” she chuckled, her heart gradually slowing in relief, only to give a little flutter that professional self-preservation couldn’t explain away, when a shy but clearly heartfelt smile crossed his handsome face.

She’d only just smiled back, helplessly, when a truck horn gave a deafening squawk just behind them, and before Mona could swerve aside to let them pass, the truck’s front bumper had rammed into their rear and shoved the convertible clean off the road. 

“Hold on-!” she had just enough time to shout, before they shuddered to a halt in a grassy ditch, startled but undamaged.

“Mona - Mona, are you alright?” her companion called anxiously - and somewhat muffled - from his wedged position in the footwell.

“Fine, Gerry - say, can you take the wheel? I’m going t’have to get out and push -”

“Now really, I think I ought to be the one to -”

“Moses in the bullrushes, don’t start that! It’s my car, I’ll push it three miles and a quarter if I like.”

“O-oh, alright then.”

It took a few moments of disentangling, but no sooner had she planted her little hands on the engine hood and began shoving while the wheels spun frantically, than a hulking, bowler-hatted figure with an underbite that could catch rainwater came barrelling out of the truck cabin.

“What’s the idea hoggin’ the road, ya punk?!” he bellowed, red in the face, and making a beeline for Gerald behind the steering wheel.

“Oh, I think you must be confused; you see, she-”

“What’s  _ your _ idea, you ape?!” Mona shouted back as she jumped in front of him, flooded by an unanticipated rush of protectiveness. “You pushed  _ us _ off the road, didn’t you?”

“You stay outta this, sister!”

“So you wanna make something out of it?” she shrieked, her voice gone baby-high in agitation.

“I said stay outta it, you ain’t the first broad I ever smacked!”

A loud gasp came from Gerald in the driver’s seat, and both turned, startled.

“Now really sir, you can’t talk to a lady like that, you know-”

“I can’t, huh? Fer two cents I’d break your goddamn neck!”

A meaty paw grabbed at his shirt collar, and it occurred to Mona that they could be in a worse situation than she’d realized.

“You’re making a big mistake, you know.” Gerald mumbled in a small voice.

“C’mon! C-!”

The gorilla’s irate tirade was cut off instantly as Gerald’s fist rammed up his nose, as easily as swatting a fly.

“ _ Gerry-! _ ”

“Well, I’m sorry, but I had to do it -”

Whatever their fellow driver was attempting to say seemed to be muffled by the bubbling fountain of blood gushing down his face, but it didn’t sound like surrender.

“I think he wants me t’get out of the car, Mona -”

“You’re crazy - he’ll kill you-”

“He seems to be insisting -”

“But Gerry - oh!” she whined as the trucker yanked him over the seat and out of the convertible, barely giving Gerald enough time to duck a punch aimed squarely at his head.

Mona could have slapped herself. Granted, she hadn’t really considered where the afternoon’s efforts might lead, but getting the poor kid hammered to a lifeless pulp hadn’t really been on the docket…

Half panicking, she fumbled a moment under the convertible’s back seat before coming up with a rusty lug-wrench, but as soon as she spun around with her weapon raised, a pair of fleshy thuds rang through the peaceful spring air when Gerald landed a neat one-two punch squarely between his opponent’s beady eyes.

The trucker dropped like a stone while Gerald adjusted his cufflinks, his face suddenly breaking into an elated smile.

“Say, look Mona!”

Stunned, she watched him cheerfully scoop a large yellow and blue butterfly off a flower near the motionless figure, and hurry over with a smile.

“This is a surprise! I haven’t seen any yet this year -  _ papilio machaons  _ usually migrate late in the spring. Pretty, isn’t it?”

The insect fluttered it’s bright wings a moment before taking off again, leaving Gerald to pick up his jacket while heading back down the ditch to the stranded car.

“Well - better get underway before he wakes up again. This time,  _ I’ll  _ push - what’re you doing with that wrench?”

Mona watched him toss the jacket into the back seat and begin shoving at the front bumper, something fluttering in her stomach like the wings of a  _ papilio machaon _ .

“Grandma,” she muttered under her breath, with a lip-bitten grin, “I think you’ve got something there.”

 

*

  
  


If his overall behavior didn’t prove that he’d spent his entire life behind closed doors and crenelated walls, Gerald’s milk-white skin would have been testament enough. 

Funny, Mona considered as she propped up her elbows on his thighs, the both of them sprawled in the grass almost a mile from the side road. All those years she and her school friends had smeared themselves in buttermilk, terrified they might break out into freckles, and all they’d needed to do was lock themselves indoors for a decade or two.

He’d finally shed some of that ridiculous, unnecessary clothing, leaving his throat bare and his sleeves rolled up, so that he finally looked more like a human being and less a store mannequin. Both pale arms were crossed idly behind his head as he lay on his back, and wonder of wonders, he was actually humming the chorus of Bing’s croon. 

Mona giggled, resting her chin on her hands.

“You’re sorta having fun, aren’t you?”

“Yes, rather.”

“See, this is how people relax without bettering themselves.”

“Mm - I think I could get used to it...”

The sun slipped out from behind a lumpy cloud, drenching them in heat, and Mona sat up to strip down to her blouse and silk neck scarf, not realizing how Gerald’s lips parted slightly when her dainty bare arms were revealed.

“Mind if I ask you something?”

“I, uh - oh - oh, of course.”

She sucked in a deep breath.

“Who’s Alicia?”

Gerald’s face fell, his expression shifting to something like guilt, and for an awful second Mona wondered if he might actually cry. 

“Promise you won’t tell?”

It took a moment of careful thought, but she eventually decided that no, she could safely swear not to share any information. Not verbally, in any case.

“Word of honor.”

He swallowed uncomfortably.

“Well, we’re… we’re going t’be married next spring. Grandma’s wanted it as long as I can remember, and now that I’m twenty-five...”

The first day she’d ever driven her Ford down the highway, Mona had broken the speed limit by forty-five miles, and it was only when the little  _ bump  _ had shuddered under the tires that she’d realized she had run over a small beagle puppy.

She’d never expected to feel that nauseous, sinking sensation ever again.

“...I suppose you were introduced as children?”

“Yes - you see, she’s my second cousin…”

“Oh…”

‘Oh’ indeed. ‘Oh’ of course. ‘Oh’ certainly, she ought to have seen that coming from a mile off. After all, Wicks the Witch had mapped out every particle of her grandson’s existence until now, why wouldn’t that include his future? 

“So… perfect man gets perfect little wife and perfect kids in a perfect little house on the Gold Coast, is that it?”

“No, not exactly - we’ll be staying at Wickstead with Grandma…”

“Ah, of course you will.”

No doubt this Alicia was suitably subservient to Granny’s ironclad will, then. The honeymoon would probably be spent reading untranslated Goethe while filling hot water bottles.

Huffing with impatience, Mona gave herself a good mental shaking. What did it matter, really? Miss Chatsworth would probably fall over gibbering at the news that Wicks family wedding bells were being hoisted - it meant new fashion coverage and recipes for layered fruitcake would be saleable for at least a year. And Mona, having served up the scoop, could pour her own tea in a glossy Manhattan apartment - just like the old days - without a care in the world. The fact that this information had been handed to her in confidence by a complete innocent, who had no reason whatsoever to question her motives, shouldn’t be bothering her in the least… and what did she care if Gerald had apparently been unavailable all this time?

She must be losing perspective.

“‘I think I heard a stream a little ways back.” she blurted out at last. “‘Like to join me for a swim?”

He brightened up immediately at her sudden invitation, but a look of concern shadowed his face just as quickly.

“Well yes, I’d like to, but…”

“But what?”

His eyes searched hers plaintively.

“...You’re sure I won’t over-exert myself?”

Mona paused.

“What in the world does that mean?”

“... You know, I’ve really no idea.”

 

*

  
  


A mix of summer breeze and sunshine had kindly dried Mona’s dark curls into a fluffy tangle as the car sped back down to the main road, but her bare legs were soaked all the way up to her tap pants and her now transparent blouse plastered to her skin.

‘Swimming’ had started out by more closely resembling ‘wading’, but one playful splash had completely shattered their already fragile propriety, and the entire half hour deteriorated into a ruckus of laughter and careless wrestling. 

Still riding high on elation, neither of them noticed the police barricade at the end of the street until they were virtually on top of it.

“Damn!” Mona hissed, panic drying up the last of her enjoyment. “Well, that’s our goose burned to a crisp -”

“Hold on, I’ve got an idea.”

“Better make it quick, they’re waving us down-”

“- Don’t ask questions, just keep your foot on that accelerator until I say stop.” Gerald muttered through a steadily widening grin, as he leaned across her suddenly and grabbed the steering wheel.

“Gerry-!”

“Hold tight!” he shouted, while the car picked up speed and smashed clear through the sloppily constructed barrier. 

Well, Mona thought dazedly, there went the other headlight.

The convertible bucked and sheered wildly, sending them off the road and into the treeline, wind whipping their hair back as the sirens blared close behind.

“What do you think you’re-?!”

“Windmills, remember?” he replied happily, turning them onto an unpaved back path, and the nauseous feeling in her gut worsened - but that had to be due to the breakneck speed and the fact they had just broken about thirty five traffic rules.

Eventually uneven dirt gave way to concrete again, and they drew to a trembling halt on the side of the road, the police alarms having faded to a dull whine in the distance.

“I think we shook them off...”

“I think we shook off everything but the license plate.” Mona quavered, one glance at Gerald as he toppled back into the seat beside her left any further dressing-down cold on her tongue.

She hadn’t seen him smile like that over the whole of their wild, wonderful day together - not even when he’d grabbed her ankles and tugged her into the stream, with all the innocence of a playful child. He was grinning, flushed and rosy from exhilaration, and all because… God  _ damn it _ … he’d actually figured out what tilting windmills really meant. 

That path must have been dusty, Mona decided suddenly - her eyes were stinging something awful.

“Well, um…” she stammered. “It’ll be getting dark soon, an’ we’ll be dead if we don’t get these wet things off -”

“Mona -” Gerald interrupted without much warning, touching her shoulder carefully as if she would shatter under anything more brutal, and her overworking heart jumped into her throat.

Actually, his lips seemed fuller, softer in the low afternoon gleam, she realized after a moment. Virgin territory.

She swallowed - hard - and lifted the brake, effectively shattering whatever spell they’d been under. Gerald had shrunk back down again like a chastised little boy, all that wonderful audacity suddenly evaporated, and Mona didn’t want to understand why she missed it so terribly.

 

*

 

“You folks sure I can’t ask the missus t’getcha some real food?”

“Oh, no thanks - we’ll be just fine!” Mona called back with passable good cheer, brandishing the sack of Toll-House Crunches - all they’d been able to afford on ten cents.

The master of the household - an elderly retiree with eyebrows that a family of bats could nest in - gave a snort of laughter as the bedroom door closed behind him, chuckling something about young people in love.

If any such couple had existed, that particular attic garret would have been ideal. As it was, the hooked rug, stone fireplace, and pathetically romantic old spinning wheel in the corner weren’t only wasted, they genuinely seemed to be conspiring against them. As the final indignity, a yellowing old valentine hung in a frame on the wall, displaying a sneering, chubby-cheeked cupid. Alright, the sneer might have been purely in Mona’s imagination, but it wouldn’t have been inappropriate.

“Look, um… I’m getting my clothes off, so you might as well turn around now.”

Gerald kept his seat on the lace-hung four-poster bed, in an unmistakable snit.

“You shouldn’t have told him we were married.”

She sighed.

“And spend the whole night looking for a place to sleep?”

“Well…”

“If you feel so strongly about it, you can have the side room - I thought I saw a bed in there. Now hand me that quilt.”

“But he said the side room’s being painted -”

“So open a window.” 

After a few seconds of awkward wriggling, with the blanket draped over her like an Indian chief, Mona was able to strip out of her damp clothes and hang them up by the fire, before carefully turning her back to let him do the same.

Ideally, she would’ve rather not had a particular pair of blue satin, lace-trimmed garments dangling on a line out in the open, but then, nothing about this situation was ideal.

“... I didn’t mean to complain.” Gerald finally mumbled guiltily, once they were both swathed in yards of eiderdown and settled on the rug in front of the fire, the bag of cookies opened up between them. 

“You’ve been awfully good to me, I… if you think it’s alright, then I suppose it is.”

She giggled, in part to hide her own increasing wretchedness.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for, really - you’ve done wonderfully for a beginner.”

His hesitant smile took a rapid turn for… something else, something he clearly had no idea how to hide, when she reached for another cookie and the blanket drooped to expose the whole of her collarbone and one pretty white shoulder. Her breathing quickened, and almost with one mind they both struggled to their feet, clutching the quilts around their bodies.

“Well - I’ll - I’ll just, um -”

“Yes-”

A little rifling through the old highboy in the corner turned up two pairs of pajamas (as promised) but Gerald paused next to side door, clinging to his armful of flannel.

“Mona…”

She glanced up, brown eyes wide and a little frightened.

“Mona, it’s been fun today, really it has. I - I’ve never had so much fun in my life.”

With a gulp, she shrugged her bare shoulders and turned her back to him, pretending that straightening the bedsheets was the most intriguing task in the world.

“Is it so strange, having fun?”

“... No... no, I suppose not.” he mumbled, and Mona hated how she could tell perfectly, without even looking, that his gaze had dropped to the floor and he’d begun biting his lip.

“Well, um… goodnight.”

“Goodnight.” she called gently after him, and as the door clicked shut, a long, harsh sigh rattled out of her lungs.

There might be a problem, she forced herself to admit - not just the pajamas, which swamped her tiny frame, and keeping the flap at the front of the trousers pulled shut would certainly be a night-long challenge - no, it was a bit worse than that.

Her plan that morning had been fairly simple, overall - set the prince loose from the tower, wind him up, and watch him go. But there hadn’t been one attempt to get tight, or avail himself of a striptease artist’s ample charms - instead, Gerald Beresford Wicks… Gerry… had the unmitigated nerve to be caring, gentle, kind, and completely adorable, and if Mona fell any faster it would take a spatula to peel her off the pavement.

Her imagination flickered briefly back to the sight of him admiring a large butterfly, and she wondered for a moment how it might feel if that delighted, wondering expression were focused on her own eyes and lips… or if the admiration were shared with a child, maybe a little boy who had Gerry’s smile, and her wild brown curls…

Now wasn’t that a silly thought. At the rate he was going, any children would probably have to be the result of immaculate conception.

Although, Mona realized, he likely wasn’t altogether ignorant. No doubt (and she shuddered a little at the thought) Old Lady Wicks or one of her flunkies had given him a pinched-faced lecture on the facts of life. But still, the idea of offering that  _ beauty _ a practical demonstration on the delights of human skin… What kind of sounds would he make, if she kissed him, right on those gorgeous lips…

 

Yes, there was definitely a problem.

 

She’d only just finished buttoning up her shirt - who’d owned it before, a hippopotamus? - no closer to a solution, when the side door suddenly sprang open again.

“Mona -”

“Good grief, Gerry -!”

“Mona, I -” he seemed embarrassed, mortified even, but with a shaky determination to carry on.

“- I just wanted to thank you, for… for everything. I know I’m not much to speak of -”

“Gerry…”

“- I’m weak, ineffectual, and… and I wouldn’t be able to find my own way for three minutes without help, so… thank you, really -”

It was clearly another recitation, and Mona instantly became aware of a flash of defensive anger on his behalf.

“Gerry, I -”

“- You know, whenever I asked what it was like - outside, I mean - Grandma always said it wasn’t worth bothering about, because everyone in the world would only want my money, or to use me for their own ends, but… well, maybe she’s never met anyone like you.”

For once in her life, Mona could think of nothing to say - but perhaps that was just as well, since she’d never be able to force a single word past the lump in her throat.

“Well, I… I suppose that’s all. Goodnight...”

He’d just begun to close the door, when she called after him shakily.

“Gerry…”

“- Yes?” he replied, a little too quickly, too eagerly.

No. No, damn it all, despite everything she’d believed of herself, she just didn’t have the nerve.

“... Don’t forget to open a window.”

“Oh. Oh, yes.” 

“Goodnight.” She managed a little wave, and while her chin didn’t actually tremble when he returned it, the effort involved was considerable.

At long last, the door clicked shut, and with a final rush of desperation she pushed the bolt in place, locking him out. 

If only it were that easy to do in every other way.

The nausea and misery only got worse as she slipped over to the roll-top desk in the corner, where she’d hidden the little black briefcase containing her portable typewriter, after smuggling it out of the car under her arm.

Mona knew better than most that in her line of work, one surrendered any kind of moral conscience that might get in the way of a red-hot exclusive, but damn it, as she loaded the carbon paper, she couldn’t help but feel that the blank page was staring at her accusingly.

_ “This is low, Mona Carter.” _ she thought to herself, sniffling.  _ “This is so, so low.” _

Then, with a heavy gulp and a single escaped tear, her dainty fingers curled and she began to type.

  
  


*

  
  


The Black Forest cuckoo clock must have let out a blast or two over the hours, but Mona wasn’t conscious of it until about one in the morning, when a thump against the door broke her concentration not long after.

“ _ Mona… _ ” a weak voice called from the next room. “ _ Mona, let me in please…” _

“That door’s locked!” she answered back, with a sting of irritation colored by fear. 

_ “I know, I… please, I have to get some air…” _

She huffed.

“I told you to open a window!”

_ “I can’t, they’re stuck…” _

Her eyes glanced over the stack of papers beside her, almost ninety-three sheets deep, and held back a groan. So damn close, why’d he have to go making her feel guilty now?

“Gerry, go back to bed, I wanna get some sleep!”

_ “Oh… right…sorry...” _ he mumbled, but seconds after she’d assumed he had obediently followed orders, a solid _ thud  _ rattled the floorboards and made her jump.

“Gerry?”

There was no reply, and a prickle of concern traveled down the back of her neck.

“Gerry, are you -”

Snapping the latch back, she tried pushing the door open, but the effort was stymied by something heavy on the other side, which she suddenly realized with a cold rush of dread, was actually a human body.

“Gerry!” she gasped, dropping to her knees beside him on the floor. “Are you sick? What’s-”

The stench of the room hit her at maximum power - a gamey, artificial chemical smell that almost brought up two days’ worth of food - at the exact same instant she noticed the white sheets covering everything but the twin bed, and the newspapers pasted over all of the windows.

“Oh gosh, the fresh paint, I forgot! Oh, you poor kid-”

Deadweight and slippery with sweat, it took considerable effort to drag Gerald into the main room, where he finally began showing signs of life after she’d blotted away the perspiration and helped him suck in a few deep breaths.

“Mm… sorry to trouble you, I... just needed some fresh air…”

“No wonder, that room’s like a steam broiler -”

“I’ll be alright now…”

To Mona’s horror, he actually started to crawl back towards that veritable poison lab, and when she grabbed him by the shoulders it was as easy as shaking a kitten.

“‘No you don’t! I’m not spending the night dragging you along the floor like - God, why didn’t you say something sooner?! There wasn’t any reason for you to suffer like that-”

He murmured something indistinctly while she pulled his damp shirt open and mopped him off, but when she glanced back to his face, her breath caught.

It seemed to take some energy, but after a moment he managed to speak.

“There’s something I… I have to…”

“Don’t worry about that now,” she shushed him hurriedly. “Just get your bearings-”

“Mona-”

“Drink.” she ordered blankly, bringing a glass over from the washstand.

He did as he was told, at least, but the cool air and the fluids only seemed to revive him enough to continue.

“...Mona, I’m… I’m not sure how to say what I mean-”

She smirked humorlessly, her heart racing.

“Grandma didn’t have a book on that?”

“Please, don’t… don’t make fun of me...”

Her cheeks flamed a little, because really, what else had she been doing for the last twenty-four hours?

“Really, you shouldn’t talk like this right now, you’re out of your head -”

The dismissal didn’t seem to deter him, because he caught her hand without breaking the feverish gaze.

“I’m getting awfully fond of you, and… well, do you think that… that we might…”

“What about Alicia?” The words almost choked her, but she forced them out all the same.

“I’m not in love with Alicia, you must know that by now-! I- “

Mona ought to have seen it coming from miles ahead, but somehow she still gave an astonished squeak when he curled both arms around her body and kissed her too hard.

It wasn’t exactly enjoyable; he was tense, unyielding, and it was painfully obvious he’d never had the benefit of childhood tutelage under the porch or behind the potting shed. When Mona pushed him away, gasping, her chin was slick.

“Gerry, wait-”

“Please… darling… I thought that you-”

“But- oh, but this is ridiculous! You don’t really know me at all-!”

“I know I love you, darling -”

“No, you don’t - Gerry, you don’t even know what love is!”

She’d backed into the corner, beside the desk, but there was no chance of escape; he caught her face carefully between his palms.

“I know I care about you more than anyone I’ve ever known - I don’t want to go back, Mona; not if it means I’ll never see you again. Please, darling - don’t you care too?”

Her eyes were stinging again, but this time there was nothing to blame except the tears thickening her throat.

“Oh Gerry… I care.”

She dove for his lips, rising up onto her toes to reach them. A trembly little moan escaped him then, and she almost sobbed, petting his cheekbones until his mouth softened, and the kiss became tender rather than desperate.

At long last, they drew apart and she rested her head against his chest, all too aware of the drying sweat on his bare skin and the effect it had on her mind and body.

“Oh Mona, Mona…” he whispered brokenly, and in that instant she made up her mind.

Miss Chatsworth would simply have to fire her, because some other girl would be penning the newest headliner - Mona Carter and Gerald Wicks’ impromptu elopement. Hell, everything they needed was outside in the convertible - they could swerve onto the highway and never stop…

“Mona…”

“Oh, Gerry…”

“Mona… what’s all this?”

She looked up, confused, before following his gaze to the roll-top beside them, and her typewriter surrounded by mounds of print.

A few panicky excuses flickered through her brain like rotting celluloid, but it was horrifyingly clear that there was no explanation possible except the obvious.

“You… you’re a reporter, aren’t you?”

Mona had never seen a heart break into pieces, particularly up close. The experience wasn’t an enjoyable one.

The fact that the sensation was mirrored in her own chest only made it worse.

He seemed to take her silence for affirmation.

“So, all of today… knocking over windmills… it was all…”

“No, I - well, maybe at first, I thought - but Gerry, please, you have to let me - !”

He backed away without meeting her eyes, his throat working hard.

“I… I suppose I’ll go and find a cab, then.”

All other frantic explanations died on her tongue then, and there was nothing left for her to do but watch miserably as he gathered up his clothes.

“I… I haven’t got any money…”

“Oh, of - of course…” she whispered, fighting to keep whatever was left of her composure as she wrestled a crumpled dollar out of her coinpurse, and pressed it into his palm.

She tried to caress his fingers, one last time, but he pulled away before she’d really had the chance.

Gerald already had his hand on the doorknob when he paused suddenly and looked back at her, wide-eyed and tight-lipped, like a child trying his hardest to be brave under orders.

She didn’t have any idea of what he planned to say - he hated her, she’d made a complete fool out of him, she had only proved that fiend of a grandmother right; all perfectly acceptable possibilities - but he only floundered at the last, and closed his mouth without speaking, before slipping out the door and down the stairs.

 

*

 

Mona’s eyes were still raw and puffy the next morning, and while blinking was always difficult when she hit seventy-five on the road, on this particular occasion it was downright agonizing.

No matter - looks didn’t matter that day, not for this appointment.

“Alright, honey…” she muttered under her breath, leaning in close over the steering wheel and patting it lovingly with a gloved hand.

“Just know that I appreciate all you’ve done.”

With peace made, Mona wrenched the car into a forty-degree turn as her foot drove the gas pedal directly to the floor, roaring straight through the hole already broken in the Wickstead estate fence before coming to an abrupt, outstanding crash against the enormous oak tree.

Getting free of the wreckage took some struggling, but she finally managed to roll out onto the neatly trimmed grass - minus one red leather heel - and hobble up the lawn towards the mansion looming ahead.

 

Someone could have set their watch to the precise six-second time gap between the first knock and the moment the door was swung open by the cadaverous butler - a servant perfectly suited to his surroundings, Mona discovered as she marched directly into the massive entry hall, ignoring the protests being croaked behind her.

Every square inch of the place appeared to be covered in black marble, Greek statuary, or leather furniture that clearly hadn’t been replaced since the turn of the century, and all collaborating to form an almost oppressive opulence that was more suited to a crypt or mausoleum than a residence. The old place in Connecticut hadn’t looked the slightest bit like it, even before her father’s business crashed.

She couldn’t imagine how Gerald had survived this long.

“Young woman!” the servant continued to object hoarsely. “Are you -”

With a heavy sigh, Mona reached down and, hopping ridiculously on one foot for an instant, pulled off her surviving shoe.

“Don’t trouble yourself on my account, my good man.” she trilled, nose in the air, before handing the stunned butler the offending article.

“Just toss that to the dogs to chew on, and then have a glass of sherry in pantry on me; I’ll announce myself.”

She’d wonder later if he’d actually taken her up on her instructions, but for the moment she continued in her single-minded progress through a palatial archway and into a positively antiquated sitting room, just in time to hear a brittle voice concluding a reprimand.

“ - and don’t mumble when speaking to me; if you’re too weak-willed to speak out loud, I suggest you not speak at all. Where have you been, Gratten, I don’t see why I should have to wait so long-”

“I’m sorry, you’ll have to wait a little longer for Gratten.”

Both occupants turned with a start as she spoke; Gerry huddled on a tufted settee in the corner (she was disgusted to see that he once again resembled a catalogue model) and the slight-figured, elderly woman pacing imperiously in front of the enormous fireplace.

“Mona?”

Gerry shot to his feet, with such a hopeful expression that she almost broke down again.

“What’re you -”

“I’m sorry to have bothered you, Mrs. Wicks, but I wanted to share some information about your grandson that you might find very revealing.”

The old lady glided forward, stately as a queen in her black velvet and pearls, her snow-white hair wound about her skull in a tight braid that could just as easily have been a coronet.

Mona planted her stocking-clad feet and met her gaze for gaze, chin up.

“Gerald…” Mrs. Wicks finally purred - more with the attitude of a cobra than a kitten, “You may go upstairs.”

“But Grandma -”

“I said, upstairs.”

With a harsh gulp and a frantic look back, he slipped out a nearby door, leaving both women to glare under a lady-like facade.

Mrs. Wicks broke her scrutiny first.

“I trust that you are the party responsible for the uproar yesterday.”

“I suppose you could say that - but it was Gerald who decided to break out of this slammer for a time.”

The old woman’s lips pursed; she set down the Tennyson she’d been perusing and folded her bony hand’s primly.

“Apparently, you have been misinformed. He hasn’t any wish or desire outside of these walls, I’ve seen to that - I raised him to be a perfect example of his social class, and-”

“And you damn near pulled it off, too.” Mona interrupted demurely, to Mrs. Wicks’ obvious yet silent outrage.

“Until a conniving little hussy intruded on my property, in time to ruin everything.”

“For Gerry’s sake, I hope so.”

“Oh... ‘Gerry,’ is it? Are you by any chance referring to my grandson, Gerald Beresford?”

“The very same.”

Her eyes narrowed to slits, taking on a frosty look that Mona supposed was intended to strike fear into her heart - and she had no doubt whatsoever that it usually worked exactly to purpose.

“I haven’t the slightest idea who you are, young woman - or why you’re here, or what your intentions are - but if trapping Gerald into marrying you plays any part therein, rest assured that I can reduce your life to a pittance with a single order.”

Mona huffed.

“Stop blathering, you cow - you’re not going to bully me the way you’ve bullied him his whole life.”

That seemed to be the final straw for Mrs. Wicks, who reached several inches to her left and gave the velvet bell-cord a decisive, threatening yank.

“I suppose that means my time is limited; alright then, I’ll tell you why I came. Since you seem to have labored under a delusion about Gerald for twenty-five years, I thought I’d set the record straight.”

“You needn’t tell me a thing about that boy - he’s nothing but the same silly idiot he always has been and always will be, exactly like his father -”

“You think so? Read this, then.”

One gloved hand tugged the thick manuscript free of her handbag, and slapped it onto the sideboard, under Mrs. Wicks’ unimpressed glower.

“It’s all right there, but you should have seen it - seen your wonderful,  _ wonderful _ grandson knock out truck drivers - and smash through police barricades - and eat red meat-!”

“Red mea- if you aren’t off this property in five minutes, I’ll have you removed forcibly!”

“Oh, don’t worry - it’ll be a pleasure. The story is for you; read it, burn it, feed it to those massive dogs, I don’t care - as long as it never sees the light of day. Goodbye, Mrs. Wicks.”

The old woman gaped after her, trembling in fury, as she strutted back out into the hallway and out the front door, just passing the trio of black-jacketed footmen answering the bell’s call, and a single figure in herringbone shetland who chased after her in a frenzy, the outline of a keyhole still red on his ear.

  
  


*

  
  


The engine’s pitiful remains had started to smoke by the time Mona returned to the wreck, and after a quick examination, gave one of the deflated back wheels a vicious kick.

“You seem to be stuck!” a voice called, and as soon as Mona spun around, a large, firm weight crashed into her body and went toppling with her into the car’s backseat.

“Gerry?! What on earth do you think you’re -”

“Windmills.” he murmured, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world, before giving her a firm kiss.

Birds stopped chirping around her head after a moment, when she was able to find her tongue at last. 

“... you heard all that?”

“Enough to know you’re staying right here -”

“With that dragon? Not on your life-”

“Then we’ll find a place all to ourselves - I don’t need money, or perfection, darling, I only need you, ‘cause I love you - I think I’ve loved you ever since you crashed through our fence.”

“Yesterday.” Mona whimpered, weakly.

“Was it, really? Well, I don’t care - I love you. Terribly. For keeps. Say you’ll stay with me?”

Her quicksilver mind seemed to have gone dull and useless, as she lay sprawled on the seat of her destroyed car, gazing up at him, starry-eyed.

“Well, I think… I might…”

“Really?”

“Mm-hm…”

“For keeps?”

She giggled helplessly, and pulled him down for another kiss.

 

He tasted like perfection.

  
  



End file.
